The Musings of Mina Harker
by Clez
Summary: Suddenly she felt very alone, lost in her thoughts of a love long over, and possibly one that had never existed... not truly. Set postmovie. The thoughts, or musings rather, of a certain vampiress as she thinks back on her ordeal.


**Author's Note: **Okay, so I know I already have some work on the go, but I was bored, sitting at my computer suffering from lethargy and writer's block *swears _very_ loudly*, and I felt like writing a one-shot short. It's _very_ pointless, and I prattle on. Now that I look back, it actually seems quite boring. So here it is... it's a Mina Harker, as I said in the summary, and this dear lady is a favourite character of mine... enjoy, and let me know what you think. Thanks.

*          *          *

            The air whipping around the conning tower during the day had served as a refreshing escape from the regulation and mad rushing of the lower decks, and for a while, it had been a refuge, a place where she could collect her busy thoughts and process them... try to find order in chaos, sense in madness.

            Wilhelmina Harker had failed in that endeavour, choosing to retreat back into the belly of the Nautilus after an hour of fresh air... perhaps too fresh. Maybe it had overwhelmed her. She wasn't used to so much pleasantness, and freedom. She was the kind of woman who had spent far too many years in misery, one who had sat and thought about the frailties in life for too long, and had wasted away in the company of spoiled brats of men and other such demons, both metaphorical and literal.

            Mina sat now, somewhat curled up on her bed in her nightgown, her long auburn hair cascading over her lean feminine shoulders in gorgeous waves of silky softness. She had sat brushing it, alone with her musings, for near on twenty whole minutes before coming to the conclusion that it was perfectly free of knots and tangles. The brush sat unused and stationary on her dresser now. The light from her lamps reflected slightly in her mirror, and shone around the room, making it much more bright than it should have been. Mina flicked off the one closest to her, and hunched down a little more against her backrest.

            _What is the matter with you, Mina? You've done nothing but brood since Mongolia... and you know why. Stop lying to yourself._

            Mina huffed loudly at her ridiculous subconscious thoughts as to her mood as of late, and sat up, snatching her book from the dresser at arm's length, stretching off the foot of the bed. She sat back again to her comfortable position, drawing her bare feet up underneath her, and opened the book to its page, where she had left the silk marker.

            She got about two lines into the twelfth chapter when she realised she hadn't taken in a single word. It was all just blurring together, and in a temper now, she threw it to the end of the bed, seeing it bounce and tumble to the floor. Then she recalled whose book it was, and scoopedit up at once, dusting it off and checking it was undamaged.

            Despite the well-known fact aboard the Nautilus that Allen Quatermain had perished in Mongolia in the fight against M, it was not her intention to mistreat his property, regardless of whether or not he would ever reclaim it... which she knew he couldn't. 

            Sighing, she let her mind wander, as well as her blue eyes, and froze altogether when they both simultaneously landed on the same thing... that one blasted topic of conversation that had been practically ignored on the trip back from Africa to England.

            Dorian Gray.

            His portrait hung on her wall, though she could not even explain to herself as to why this was. She had claimed it as her own, perhaps as a morbid trophy after defeating the immortal in combat. The blue eyes closed slowly, and she remembered the battle vividly, in small flashes like someone was teasing her with images taken as they fought. Their words haunted her as well, Dorian's and her own...

            _"The bedroom, Mina... does it give you memories? Or ideas?"_

            She did not smile as she remembered her growled retort.

            _"Ideas."_

            Her mind seemed to skip forward a few seconds, to where she had leapt away from him agilely after wounding him in a very personal area with one of her daggers.

            _"If that had been permanent, I would have been **very** upset..."_

            Her eyes opened, cutting off the images before they showed him running her through. To her surprise, she felt the anger coursing through her again, and a fleeting glance in the mirror confirmed her suspicions that her eyes had flushed blood red.

            "Oh, Dorian... why?" she murmured, almost wishing the handsome face on the portrait would come to life and answer her in that same droll voice of his, those dark eyes alight with some youthful mischief and longing. She stared into them, lost in her memories and fantasies.

            _"You said you wanted to face your demon... well here he is..."_

            She heard anew his screaming in her ears, a ringing torturous sound that threatened to tear her apart, and in a swift catlike movement, she was off the bed, and taking the picture from the wall, throwing it face-down on the floor, breathing heavily with the memory of seeing Dorian Gray crumble and die, nothing more than ash and brittle bone.

            It was with a nauseating horror that she clearly visualised the way his beautiful face had deteriorated and rotted with terrifying speed before her eyes. She clamped them shut now, trembling slightly, her knees weakening. She made it back to the bed, scrambling onto it, still hiding in the darkness she found behind her eyelids.

            Mina lay down on it now, her hair tumbling around her face as she curled up, reminding herself none too delightfully of a terrified child after suffering a nightmare. She forced her eyes to open, and to her dismay found unshed tears in them now, blurring her vision in a most unwelcome fashion.

            Suddenly she felt very alone, lost in her thoughts of a love long over, and possibly one that had never existed... not truly. She yearned for some company... someone to share her melancholy with. Everybody was stowed away on their own recently, trying to make sense of it all.

            Captain Nemo spent most of his time with his inventions and his blueprints and maps, guiding them back to England, somewhat reluctantly so that people could check in at 'home'. He was stoic as always, but whenever the _League_ congregated, Mina could practically feel the waves of sorrow emanating from him, and it served only to deepen her own sense of the situation.

            Doctor Henry Jekyll liked to read away the hours in the library, where Nemo had accumulated an impressive collection of classics. To her count, after popping her head in to check on him or call him for meals, she had to estimate he had forced his way through at least seven books... it was impressive and daunting, to think that Jekyll spent so much time with his nose and thoughts in a book and nowhere else. But then again, Mina had heard very little since Mongolia at least, about Edward Hyde, Jekyll's brutish alter ego, who had truly come in useful. Perhaps the reading was to keep the beast at bay.

            _Don't go calling others beasts, Mina... you should know better..._

            Rodney Skinner... no one had truly seen him since the funeral, for as soon as he had made it back onto the Nautilus, he had relieved himself of burdensome clothing and greasepaint, and literally disappeared. Little had been heard of him either, but various crewmen claimed to have noticed subtle things going on aboard in random places. The kitchens, the engine room, and the bridge... the tales were lengthy and she did wish to dwell on them. Of course, this had Jekyll quite irritated, as the doctor wished for nothing more than to check up on the man who had sustained extensive burns after the battle in the fortress. Clearly, Skinner had other ideas, and felt he needed no nursing.

            Then there was Special Agent Thomas Sawyer... Tom. At first, Mina had thought of him as nothing more than a reserve, someone to take a turn at playing the hero whenever old Quatermain had tired. But as she had seen him in action, the American had surprised her in many ways. He was brave, courageous, compassionate and thoughtful. He made no attempts to hide his attraction to Mina either, and she was not entirely certain as to whether or not this was a blessing or a nuisance. She favoured the former for the time being. But still, Tom had spent much time on the conning tower himself, shooting away meticulously, practising his marksmanship, perhaps trying to honour Quatermain's memory. His mentor had grown very close to him, and vice versa, Mina could tell, and the loss was affecting the young man more than he was letting on.

            _Everyone is hurting... it isn't just you. Don't be so selfish._

            Mina sighed again, a great heaving breath that caused her whole chest to rise and fall in an exaggerated fashion that was mostly unnecessary. She rolled over onto her back, and brushed the auburn tresses out of her flawless face, staring up at the ceiling.

            _"You were so lovely..."_

            Mina slapped her hands over her face and groaned loudly. This was getting too much. All day and all night these sudden memories and internal quotes would disturb her routine, whether it be sleep or pointless experiments she attempted in order to keep herself distracted.

            "This is useless," she whimpered into the emptiness of her cabin, speaking only to the shadows and the portrait lying discarded on the floor. Her eyes fell upon its backing, and she shuddered involuntarily.

            _Why do you tremble so?_ Mina's mind chattered. _This is a picture of the man you **loved**. There is no use in trying to deny it... you know it deep in your heart. But still, his treachery is like a wicked flame that licks at you when you think of him. Remember though, he was not acting entirely of his own accord._

            Of course... Dorian had been blackmailed. But still... he had tried to kill her, hadn't he? And when she thought on it more, he _had_ to have known that impaling would not kill her, a vampire. He had aimed too low to pierce her heart, hadn't he? Had Dorian intended to miss, only wound her?

            _Oh, god_, she thought suddenly, sitting up on the covers and mattress of the bed. _What if he had intended to only wound me, not kill me? What have I done? He could have destroyed me easily, but instead... no, I can't let myself think like this._ She was taking control of her own thoughts now, instead of letting them address her, she was using them coherently to speak internally as she so wished.

            _Dorian may not have meant to kill me. Why didn't I realise this before? But wouldn't he have simply spared me instead of running me through like he did? Wouldn't he have told me? What if I did not give him the chance?_

            She tried to stop the thoughts, but they kept assaulting her, attacking her blindly and the tears welled once more. She could not bear the thought of the possible murder of her former love when he may have only intended to remove her from action and spare her altogether, just incapacitate her long enough to make his escape.

            Mina stood shakily from the bed, the ideas and new realisations still churning within her unpleasantly, and she took the painting in her hands, holding it up to look at the perfectly rendered face of Dorian Gray. He had been so charming when they had met... he had still carried a hint of it at their re-acquaintance. But something had been lost in the years of squander, and the man she had known had potentially truly perished long before her destruction of his shell. 

            Walking over to the space where it had hung silently and undisturbed for days since their departure from the funeral in Africa, Mina replaced it on the hanging. She stepped back to regard it, and something in her mind tried to tell her that the expression on the face of that painting had changed subtlely, almost unnoticeably.

            The face of Dorian Gray looked almost grateful.

            Mina, slightly shocked and disturbed, yet at the same time swelling with a great sense of relief, moved back over to her bed. The shaking had stopped altogether now, and as she walked she deactivated the lamps on her way. The room was slowly cast into what she liked to think of as comforting darkness. She was soon slipping herself silently underneath her blankets, and resting her head wearily on the feather pillows.

            As the shadows spread and all light faded completely, Mina Harker felt at ease for the first time in a long while, despite her recent realisations. The look on that painting as she had reattached it to the wall had comforted her in some strange sordid way that she could not describe, and would not divulge to anyone, ever.

            Oddly enough, it was on this night of previous discomfort and frightful musing that Mina Harker slept more soundly than any night since the ordeal.

            And in the darkness, in its place on the far wall, the portrait of Dorian Gray watched the woman sleep peacefully.


End file.
